OneShot: Baby's Breath
by dogsled
Summary: Betty and Daniel visit their new nephew in New York. Posted here instead of my community at LiveJournal because LJ remains screwed up. People who haven't followed my post-series work might wonder about some of this, but it might stand okay on its own.


**Hi everyone,**

**Here's a one-shot I'm posting here because LiveJournal isn't allowing RTF posting. I'm sorry if it doesn't make sense to people who haven't followed my post-series work. Anyone who's interested is welcome to come over to LiveJournal and request membership at WritingFromAnne to read my other stuff. Just send me a note and introduce yourself.**

**I hope everyone's well and good after the weekend's battering of the East Coast. We're cooking in California!**

**I'd be thrilled if you're compelled to comment. It helps me know people are reading.**

**Thanks for reading!—Anne**

* * *

><p><strong>Baby's Breath<strong>

Hilda's butt hurt. It wasn't even the stitches or the little gross swellings that Betty told her were not to be discussed. It was everything, like the last time she had ridden a bicycle a few miles one day, then gotten back on the next day, and it was like someone had bashed her between the legs with a two-by-four. Except in this case, it was a little seven-pound blob of screaming humanity that had done the damage.

Oh, how she loved the little scrap, though, with his mop of dark hair and his chicken limbs and his little pink lips. Gabriel Anthony. He looked like Bobby. Or maybe like Ignacio. Maybe a little bit like Justin. He was adorable, especially when he was asleep. And when he was awake, he seemed wise. Sober and sharp-eyed and wise. "Of course he's wise," Betty told her. "He knows more than we do. He knows what it's like to be inside of someone else."

Getting him out had been a challenge, but not nearly as difficult as delivering Justin had been. She ended up taking the epidural, when the labor nurse asked her why have such pain if she didn't have to. The needle in her back had been a little scary, and the zing that shot through her butt cheek, down her thigh and into her toe made her wonder whether she'd be confined to a wheelchair the rest of her life. But other than making it a little hard to tell when she needed to push, the epidural was a godsend. In fact, she wouldn't mind having another one right now, if it would stop this buttache.

Her breasts, too, were a mess, and her milk wasn't even in yet. In the 16 years since Justin had been born, she had forgotten that a newborn had a mouth like a staple gun. Now she remembered her mother assuring her that it would only be painful for the first few days, and warning her that she was forbidden to stop breastfeeding. "Sure, it hurts, but you'll toughen up," she had told Hilda. "Besides, it's best for the baby."

Which, okay, she could believe if she actually had some milk. But all this hooey about newborns getting pre-milk—which had some long official name that she couldn't remember—for the first few days and how that was enough. If baby Gabriel was getting enough, then why was he waking up every hour, frantic to nurse? How could this be best for the baby? Or, for that matter, the mother? Oh, she missed her mother—now more than ever. How she would have loved baby Gabriel!

Justin had made himself scarce, which both relieved and worried Hilda. He was on spring break from school, but consumed with rehearsals for Hamlet. His part as The Ghost hardly seemed to require he be on stage constantly, but more often than not, he was "off to rehearsal," "going over to Austin's" or "staying at Grandpa's," and seemed honest in his claims that if he was going to put in a good performance, he needed more sleep than he could get with Gabriel wailing all night long. When Justin was around, he doted on his infant brother; he just didn't stick around for long, even when Betty showed up on short notice.

It was nice to have Betty here, sleeping on the couch. Or not sleeping, as had been the case last night. She helped with Gabriel when Hilda and Bobby were too tired to do much more. Last night, when Bobby finally crashed because he had to go to work in a few hours, Betty told Hilda to nurse the baby, then get some rest. Betty walked Gabriel, keeping him calm until he got too hungry to soothe, then she slipped him into Hilda's arms, opened her nursing gown, and Gabriel could nurse without Hilda even needing to move from her semi-lying-down position in bed. She hardly even had to wake up, except to make sure her arms were fastened around him. Then, apparently, Betty took him back to change him, cuddle him some more and finally, when he was good and asleep, she nestled him beside Hilda and fell asleep on the couch for two hours. But then Bobby was up, waking the house with his before-work routines: grinding coffee, slamming cupboards. There was nothing quiet about Bobby.

So now Gabriel was three days old, and Betty had been in town for two days. Hilda was sitting at the kitchen table in Bobby's ugly plaid robe when Daniel showed up for the first time since he and Betty had been to the hospital right after the baby was born. He had been staying at his mother's Manhattan apartment, checking in on matters at Mode, insisting he didn't want to impose while Betty helped Hilda. Bobby had gone to work, and the kitchen was a disaster area, with coffee grounds all over the counter and eggshells in the sink, a dirty scrambled egg pan stinking up the place. Daniel came in, tidy and handsome in his jeans and dark sweater, and Hilda felt so unkempt in her gappy robe, with her flabby belly and sore ass, that she wondered how the hell this man could be her brother-in-law in a few short months. It gave her only a thin layer of comfort that Betty didn't look like she belonged with him this morning, either, slumped in a kitchen chair with her frizzy hair and stained London sweatshirt.

"What's going on here this morning?" Daniel asked, setting down a carrier of cart-bought coffees—fancy ones full of sugar and fat and caffeine. Hilda knew she shouldn't have caffeine, but she needed the boost.

"Yours is the one with the blue lid," Daniel said to her. "Decaf."

Hilda reached for one with a white lid, only to have her hand slapped by Betty. "No. You're nursing."

From the living room, where Betty had just set Gabriel in the bassinet, came the telltale mewling sounds. Hilda sighed. Betty gulped her coffee and started to get up.

"Can I get him?" Daniel asked. He sounded so shy and eager that Hilda couldn't help smiling.

"Sure."

A few minutes later, Daniel was back, the baby cradled in the crook of his arms, one shoulder drawn up almost to his ear.

"Relax," Hilda said, cracking up. She stood up and pressed down on Daniel's shoulder. "You'll have a migraine in five minutes if you keep that up."

"But I'm afraid I'll drop him."

"You won't drop him. You know I'd kill you."

Gabriel seemed to like Daniel's chin. He gazed, mouth open, up at Daniel's neck and Hilda wondered if newborns could discern skin from stubble.

"He's so small," Daniel said, assuming the position of parents of newborns everywhere: rocking from one foot to the other. "And floppy."

"Yeah, it's not like holding William," Betty said, and Hilda had to bend her sleep-deprived brain to remember that William was Christina and Stuart's 2-year-old.

"William's a giant compared to this little guy." Daniel wore a look of amazement. "I can't believe any of us were ever this small."

"Betty was smaller," Hilda said. "Not even six pounds, right, chica?"

"Five pounds seven ounces, according to my birth certificate," Betty said. "Only time in my life I've weighed less than everybody else."

"How about you, Daniel?" Hilda sipped on her mocha. Even decaf, it was so good she nearly moaned. "How much did you weigh?"

"I have no idea," Daniel continued to stare at baby Gabriel. "You'd have to ask my mom. Oh!" He looked up. "That reminds me. My mom wanted to know if she could pop by with some takeout at lunchtime."

"Sure," said Betty, as Hilda looked around at the messy apartment and tried to imagine Claire Meade stepping foot in such a place. There was actually a rolled-up used diaper on the arm of the couch. The worst of the problem was Betty, with her clothes strewn everywhere, and her overflowing busy bag—books, wedding magazines, charging cords for various electronic devices.

"Sure," Hilda said, "as long as Betty cleans this place up first."

"Mom won't care." Daniel tilted Gabriel up so the baby was slumped against his chest, purple legs dangling over his arm.

"But I do," Hilda said. Her own mother would be sitting up in her grave if she let guests see the place in such a shambles.

"Hi, baby," Betty said, smiling in Gabriel's face. He was nonplussed, his dark eyes unfocused. "Like my coffee breath?"

As Betty headed down the hall to take a shower, Hilda looked at her baby, cuddled in Daniel's strong arms, and her breasts ached. She glanced up from Gabriel's face to Daniel's, and she met her almost-brother-in-law's eyes. Swaying side to side, patting the baby's padded bottom, he wore a shiny-eyed expression that reminded Hilda of his radiance when he announced his engagement to Betty at the Thanksgiving dinner table.

"What?" she asked, pulling her coffee cup away from her lips.

"Are you happy?" Daniel asked, his voice so gentle that Hilda felt the sting of tears. She nodded, unable to speak.

"Me, too," he said, lowering his lips to the top of Gabriel's head. "I love this little guy."

* * *

><p>Hilda had forgotten the zing of milk letdown, but she felt it for the first time in almost 16 years about five minutes before Claire was due to arrive. Daniel had cleaned up the kitchen—scrubbed the gross egg pan and even went after the counters with Simple Green—while she showered and Betty walked Gabriel, and now, just when she'd gotten into a clean bra and shirt, she was soaked.<p>

"Oh, crap," she said, hurrying toward the bedroom. "Betty, bring me that baby. I'm ready for him."

Leaning back on the unmade bed, Hilda coaxed Gabriel to latch on—he was getting the hang of it, it seemed, but it hurt like her nipples had been twisted with pliers, then sanded off. Betty laughed when she grimaced, and even harder when she saw the wet circle expand across Hilda's shirt.

"Shut up," Hilda said, smiling as a feathery sense of peace settled into her belly, into the achy spot between her legs. This was the part of nursing she loved—the glow. "Go in the bathroom and find me those cookies."

"Cookies?" Betty pushed her glasses up her nose.

"Nursing pads. They're like Kotex, but for your bra—"

There was a brief knock then, and door to the bedroom opened; Claire Meade, tall and blonde and dressed from head to toe in black and cream, stepped into the room. "Can I join the hen party?" she asked. In her hand was an enormous Bloomingdale's bag.

Betty emerged from the master bathroom, one of Hilda's bras over her arm, and a stack of bra cookies in her hand. "Claire!"

Hilda watched her sister hurl herself into the older woman's arms, and Claire dropped her lips to Betty's head much like Daniel had done with her own son earlier. Hilda again blinked back tears, and thumped Gabriel's bottom to keep him alert and sucking.

"How are you, dear?" asked Claire, approaching the bed and sitting down carefully. She gave Hilda's arm an affectionate pinch, and ran her hand down the side of Hilda's head, as though smoothing her hair. "You look beautiful."

"Oh, please." Hilda laughed. "I'm sorry I'm such a mess. My milk's just coming in—"

"My God, I remember those days," Claire said, looking directly at the baby. Hilda had a flash of self-consciousness—Claire Meade was staring right at her breast.

"With Daniel, I had no milk for almost five days, and we were supplementing, and all the sudden, I was like Old Faithful. For the first time in my life, I had boobs to die for, but there I was, at the country club, showing off my darling boy, and I leaked all over my silk blouse. But the best part? Daniel blew out a diaper all over Liz Smith's silk blouse!"

Betty and Hilda laughed, and Hilda pulled a sleepy Gabriel off her nipple. Claire reached for him, cooing about what a gorgeous baby he was, and Hilda pulled her bra flap back up.

"Oh, no," Claire said. "Leave it open. You want to be stay nice and dry."

Now Hilda remembered this advice, dimly, handed down from her own mother when Justin was a baby.

"See if he'll take any more from the other side," Claire said, holding the baby on her lap, salaamed forward, and patting his back. By the time he erupted with a juicy burp, Hilda had Side Two opened up and ready to go.

"He's probably full," Hilda said, positioning the baby and easing her aching breast forward. He clamped on, she winced, and as the pain smoothed out, she felt a powdery sensation in her mouth.

"Let's get you some water," Claire said, standing up. Was she clairvoyant? Before Betty could make a move, Claire stood at the bedroom door, calling, "Daniel! Bring me a glass of water."

Betty and Hilda looked at each other and grinned. They were still smiling when Claire set a tall glass of ice water on the nightstand and said, "You want to feed him as much as you can, Hilda, because he's got a little jaundice. See how his eyes are slightly yellow?"

"What?" Betty gasped, leaning forward, tugging Gabriel off Hilda's breast. Hilda patted him, urging him to open his eyes.

"Oh, don't worry," Claire said, nudging the baby back toward Hilda's dripping nipple. "Both my boys had it. Just nurse him through it. And I saw a nice sunspot on the living room floor when I came in. We'll lay him there when he's done with his lunch."

"Oh, my God," Hilda said. "Justin never had jaundice."

"Some babies get it." Claire shrugged. "Alex had it and they put him under UV lights in the hospital for two days. By the time I had Daniel, I knew more and was a lot less inclined to do what the doctors said. I also had a few hippie friends—those same bitches who talked me into natural birth—who said sunlight would help. And feeding. You want to feed and feed and feed so they poop and poop and poop."

"He's already doing that," Betty remarked.

Gabriel was asleep, so Hilda laid him on the bed on his back—his navy blue baby gown had bunched up around his hips, leaving his little mottled legs exposed. Claire put her index finger beneath his toes and they all laughed as his toes curled around it.

"He is a little yellow," Betty said. "You sure we shouldn't take him to the doctor?"

"That's up to you," Claire said. "But if you go there, they'll stick his heel and make both of you cry, and they might put a mask over his little face and make him lie under a weird light. I say, if you've got milk in those luscious boobs and there's a sunspot in your front room, why not just stay home and keep things cozy?"

Hilda gazed at Claire with new appreciation. For years, she had heard about Daniel's dysfunctional family—his cold-hearted father and alcoholic mother, his overcompetitive brother who became his sister but not til she fathered Daniel's nephew with Daniel's girlfriend, and there was that half-brother who was the product of his mother's stray from his adulterous father. And here, in Hilda and Bobby's unkempt bedroom, which smelled like blood and perspiration and yellow baby shit that wasn't quite as odorless as people said it would be, Daniel and his family had arrived, bringing sweetness and love along with them.

"What's in the bag?" asked Betty, clapping her hands.

"Oh, just a few goodies," Claire said, pushing it toward Hilda.

While Gabriel lay on the bed, sleeping, Hilda dug into the bag, extracting outfit after outfit: some plain onesies made of the softest cotton, a one-piece navy-and-white rugby suit, Ralph Lauren jeans, a luxurious sweatshirt, overalls, a denim jacket . . . with each item, Hilda and Betty gasped and gripped the fabric between their fingers. Finally, Hilda reached the bottom of the bag and pulled forth a grayish-blue one-piece cuffed infant suit, fuzzy with fleece, with old-fashioned snaps running up the legs and the front. It bore no hanging tags and on the one inside, the printing was no longer legible. Hilda looked at Claire; it didn't seem her style to give out used baby clothes.

"It was Daniel's." Claire shrugged. "I always loved it on him and he outgrew it so fast."

Hilda clutched it to her chest, her eyes filling at the magnitude of Claire's gift. "I can have it?"

"Yes, of course, dear."

"But . . . what if Betty and Daniel have a boy someday?" Hilda couldn't look at her sister.

"I've got other things I've saved." Claire had a secretive little smile on her face. "Or you can pass it along."

Hilda reached across and gathered Claire into a hug, not caring at all that her wet, gamey shirt might contaminate Claire's pretty blouse. When she finally pulled away, she, Claire and Betty were all wiping their eyes.

"So—we're supposed to ask you," Hilda said, to break the maudlin moment. "How much did Daniel weigh when he was born?"

"Nine pounds, even, and he had the biggest head in all of New York state—and I had the smallest hips." Claire said. She planted her palm against her crotch and crossed her legs. "And my God—my hoo-ha wasn't the same for years. But don't tell Daniel I said that. He gets embarrassed whenever I mention it. I guess he prefers to think he was plucked from a tree?"

* * *

><p>The waning afternoon sun gleamed through the picture window, bathing the naked baby, who lay on a cotton blanket fortified with cloth diapers beneath his bottom. As he kicked and squirmed, Hilda found it amazing to see the movements she had felt for so many months. The kicks and writhes, the raised eyebrows—"look at how his whole head wrinkles back to his neck!" she said. "I felt that!"<p>

Claire, who had promised not to stay long when she arrived with the gift bag and takeout Chinese, was still sitting on the floor, watching the baby. Daniel was reclined on the couch, dozing off his big lunch, his head in Betty's lap. Hilda considered taking a nap, but couldn't take her eyes off the baby. Plus, she knew it would be time to nurse him again in a few minutes.

"He is a machine," Claire said, leaning forward suddenly and throwing a cloth diaper over Gabriel's hips. She had a knack for catching him just starting to erupt—she had interrupted four fountains of pee and caught two poops, just in the past hour and a half. Hilda said they could just put a diaper on him, but Claire insisted the sunlight treatment would work better if he were stark naked. "Plus I like seeing naked baby boys," she had said, with a mischievous grin toward Daniel, who rolled his eyes.

Hilda found it amusing that neither Claire nor Daniel had seen "an uncircumcised one." Claire looked so closely at Gabriel's penis that she got it on the cheek the first time he peed, and Daniel finally admitted maybe he'd seen one in the locker room at some point in his life, but he hadn't really _looked_ looked.

"You mean none of your hippie friends had intact boys?" Hilda asked Claire now, noticing how Claire sneaked another peek when she pulled this wet cloth away.

"No," Claire said. "This was the '70s. Circumcision was the thing to do. I guess it's not anymore?"

"Oh, they still recommend it," Hilda said. "But my mother would see to it that I go straight to hell if I let them cut my boys. Bobby and I argued about this, though. He said I should leave the decision to him, and he would circumcise. But in Mexico, they 'leave well enough alone.' And I really wanted to honor that. Bobby's worried that Gabriel will wonder why he looks different from his father . . . oh, now I'm sharing too much information about my husband."

The three women laughed. "Well, then I've shared too much information about my son," Claire said with a shrug. "Not that he should care."

"He might," Betty said, looking with loyalty down at Daniel's peaceful face, running her fingers over his eyebrows.

"Long as she's not talking about her hoo-ha, I'll live," Daniel said, eyes still closed, grinning sleepily.

They were still laughing when Justin came in, took one look at the baby and flung his arms out in disgust. "Put some clothes on the poor guy!" he said. "What is this? Oh, hi, Mrs. Meade."

"Hello, Justin. I've been admiring your little brother."

"He's pretty awesome, isn't he?" Justin slid down onto his knees and kissed Gabriel on the forehead. The baby started to fuss, kicking and making little ignition noises in the back of his throat.

"Okay, wrap him up," Hilda said, tossing Justin a disposable diaper from the bag next to her armchair. "He's hungry again."

Justin diapered the baby, gently wrapping the tape around his skinny waist. "Mom?" he asked. "Is he too skinny?"

"Almost all newborns are skinny," Hilda said. "Wait a few weeks. He'll get big and chubby, just like you did."

"Could I invite Austin over to meet him?"

"Of course. I've been wondering why he hasn't been by yet."

"I didn't know if it would be weird." Justin picked up Gabriel and handed him to Hilda.

"Why would it be weird?" Hilda didn't understand.

Justin shrugged.

Hilda narrowed her eyes. There was something Justin wasn't saying, but she sensed he needed to say it. Just maybe not in front of a crowd. "Hey, you," she said to him as they exchanged the baby. "Come with me while I feed him."

"Ew! Mom, no!"

"I'll cover up, you little goof."

Justin followed her and stood outside the bedroom door until she got settled on the bed, draped a soft blanket over her shoulder and called to him that she was decent. He came in, her lanky boy with pimples and an errant shock of black hair, and leaned back on the pillows beside her.

"It smells in here," he said, turning sideways so his nose was against the pillow.

"Like what?" Hilda could guess, and it wasn't good.

"Like babies. And . . . moms." Justin took a deep breath. "It's nice."

"What's going on with you, mijo?"

From underneath the blanket, Gabriel sucked noisily.

"I'm sorry I've been so weird," Justin said. He reached his hand out and laid it on Hilda's arm, just like he used to do when he was little. "I know you think I'm jealous."

Hilda didn't necessarily think that, but she asked anyway: "Are you?"

"Not in the way you think." Justin's voice was thin, vulnerable. "I love him so much. More than I even thought I could."

Hilda nodded. She knew exactly what Justin meant.

"But I'll never have this."

"What do you mean?"

"Grandma and Grandpa—they had this. You and Bobby—have this. Aunt Betty and Uncle . . . Daniel—they'll have this. But I won't."

"Justin," Hilda said, turning her head and melting, again, at the sight of her older son's long eyelashes. "You _can_."

"But not easily. Not without clinics and test tubes and a whole lot of things that just aren't natural. I mean—" Justin gulped, "—I'm not ready for it right now, but I'm not naive, Mom. This is one of the hardest parts about being . . . gay."

Hilda swallowed the temptation to placate him, to tell him everything would work out when he was ready. Because he was right. It wouldn't be easy, if and when he chose to have a family. And in the meantime, he was likely to watch a whole lot of other people tumble into it without much effort. She had felt the same way as a single mother, for almost 16 years, hoping someday for a traditional family and knowing it wasn't going to come as easily for her as for women who didn't already have children.

"You know what?" she whispered. "Everybody's got something they think is standing in their way. You think about it, we've all had something that made what we achieve a little tougher for us than for other people. All that means is that we've got to work a little harder."

Justin nodded.

"And sometimes that sucks." Hilda looked over at Justin again, and this time their eyes met. "But it doesn't mean we don't get what we want. It just means we work for it."

* * *

><p>By the time Bobby got home, Ignacio had arrived and he and Daniel were in the kitchen, grinding their way through a mound of spices for a big pan of chicken mole. Betty, who had cut her hand trying to hack up a chicken with one of Hilda's dull knives, sat at the table, her finger wrapped in one of Gabriel's rags, flipping through a wedding magazine. Hilda, tired of moving into the bedroom every time she nursed, sat on one side of the table, blanket draped over her shoulder, Gabriel attached like a leech, while Claire—who had never left—peered over Betty's shoulder at the magazine spread on table settings.<p>

"Too fussy," Betty said.

"You like a lot of color, though." Hilda could see the page was alive with purple and pink flowers.

"My yard will be a riot of flowers," Claire said.

"Then I'm thinking maybe something simple for the tables," Betty said, turning the page to a new layout. By stretching her neck, Hilda could see the pale greens and white.

"It's lilies and baby's breath," said Justin, peeling a chartreuse sticky from a stack and slapping it on the page.

"That's pretty, Chipmunk," said Bobby, as he wandered around nosing into everybody's activities. He rumpled Justin's hair as he checked out the magazine page, stirred the mole sauce, then crowded up behind Daniel and Ignacio at the counter, eyeing their progress. "How's dinner coming, boys?" he asked, before he turned around and scanned the table.

"Justin's here," he said. "Where's my other son?"

"Latched on," Hilda said. But Gabriel was done. She could feel his mouth slack against her moist nipple, his breath warm. She just wasn't quite ready to give him up.

Bobby sank down in the last chair and cracked open a beer. "This is just the best," he said happily, looking around their little kitchen. "The absolute best. I wish you guys could be here all the time."

Hilda grinned across at him and cuddled the baby tighter beneath the blanket. A movement over by the counter caught her eye, and she saw Daniel glance over his shoulder, and he and Betty exchanged gentle smiles.


End file.
